


of pride (and supreme prejudice)

by iserlohn (lincesque)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-20 14:49:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14896596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/iserlohn
Summary: Two days after the official surrender of the rebel faction known as the Free Planets Alliance, the Kaiser of the Galactic Empire gathers his most senior admirals to announce an important, upcoming engagement.“I beg your pardon?” Reuenthal actually looks up from where he’s kneeling in front of his Kaiser. His usual smirk is nowhere to be found at this moment, having been completely thrown for a loop. “Could you please repeat that, my Kaiser?”AU where almost everyone lives post treaty of ba‘alat & reinhardt's best idea for peace involves yang wenli and a political marriage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beingevil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingevil/gifts).



> i am very new to the fandom. but i foresee myself writing a lot in the near future :)
> 
> apologies for the spelling on the names ~~and everything else~~ \- still working out what version i want to follow :3
> 
> i hesitated over putting this on AO3, because firstly it's not what i wanted to post for my first fic on this fandom XD and secondly it's not 100% finished per se, but i feel like it's a good place to leave off and i really wanted to contribute something to my favourite fandom in the world right now. i'll definitely be writing a continuation when i want a break from my main fic ;3
> 
> thanks to chris for 5eva being my raftmate ♥

 

*

Two days after the official surrender of the rebel faction known as the Free Planets Alliance, the Kaiser of the Galactic Empire gathers his most senior admirals to announce an important, upcoming engagement.

“I beg your pardon?” Reuenthal actually looks up from where he’s kneeling in front of his Kaiser. His usual smirk is nowhere to be found at this moment, having been completely thrown for a loop. “Could you please repeat that, my Kaiser?”

Lohengramm doesn’t even look annoyed by this request, his mood has been excellent since yesterday evening when the rebel side accepted his conditions on the topic of their surrender.

“You will be married,” Lohengramm repeats, almost cheerfully and the happy expression he wears is one that few have seen since the passing of Kircheis too long ago. “For the good of the Empire.”

Someone, probably Mecklinger, chokes back a snort that he turns strategically into a cough at the sheer absurdity of the situation. The rest of the senior admirals attending today’s meeting seem to be just as shocked as Reuenthal when faced with this announcement, all of them glancing about, exchanging looks, and just trying to process what is actually happening, eyes wide.

Only Oberstein seems to be taking this in stride, standing perfectly straight with this face utterly expressionless as usual in his position three steps to the left and behind their Kaiser. However, the brighter of those present are starting to suspect Oberstein’s shadowy hand behind this entire situation.

Lohengramm smiles then, brilliant like the sun. “You will take Yang Wenli as your husband, to bring about permanent peace between the Empire and the Alliance.”

* 

Reuenthal scowls at Mittermeyer afterward, when their Kaiser releases them from the meeting, stalking into the officer’s lounge. He also glares at the rest of the admirals who trickle in after him for good measure. The few junior officers who had been taking a break in the lounge before quickly make themselves scarce after a formal salute, knowing better than to stay and be caught in the middle of a potentially explosive situation.

“Congratulations, Reuenthal!” Bittenfeld booms loudly from about half a meter away, making everyone else around him wince and lean away. He slaps Reuenthal across the shoulders a couple of times. “Never thought that you’d be next out of us all to be married.”

He laughs heartily at his own humour even while Muller sighs and tugs on his sleeve, pulling him away, obviously having noticed Reuenthal’s displeasure.

There’s a brief awkward silence before Fahrenheit breaks it, matter of fact as always. “Our Kaiser is wise, I do believe that you are the best candidate in this situation,” he says.

Both Muller and Kesler turn to look at Fahrenheit, eyebrows raised. Reuenthal himself rolls his eyes so hard that Mittermeyer almost worries that they might just roll right out of his head.

Fahrenheit shrugs at all the disbelieving attention directed towards himself. “The terms of the surrender was simple: one - all Alliance territories are to be annexed to us and two - Yang Wenli must serve under the Empire.”

When Fahrenheit sees that everyone’s nodding along, slowly or not, he continues, “So what’s the easiest way to assure the Alliance of Yang Wenli’s safety whilst also, at the same time ensuring the Imperial citizens of the sincerity of this surrender?”

It’s Mittermeyer who speaks up then, from where he’s slouched against the wall by Reuenthal’s shoulder. “A political marriage.” He sounds torn between bemusement and sympathy for his oldest friend.

“Exactly,” Fahrenheit nods. “Unfortunately, sincerity is a two-way street. So in order to show that we’re regarding this with the utmost seriousness, our candidate must be a high ranking member of the Empire.”

“Oh, of course.” Muller tilts his head, always fast on the uptake. “The Kaiser himself is not an option obviously and he has no children or immediate relatives of age - so it must be one of us, one of his most senior and trusted officers.”

“I’m married already, as is Wahlen and Kesler, so we were not considered,” Mittermeyer says. “Despite his contact with the Alliance, Muller would be considered too young. Eisenach is too silent.” He tilts an apologetic smile towards the taciturn man sitting with his arms folded on a chair a few meters away.

Eisenach shrugs, obviously knowing and accepting his own shortcomings quite well.

“Bittenfeld would most likely start another war,” Fahrenheit says, continuing on from where Mittermeyer left off, ignoring the spluttered outcry from Bittenfeld himself. “That leaves just Mecklinger, myself and Reuenthal as possible candidates. Out of the three of us though, Reuenthal has served our Kaiser for the longest in an official capacity and is arguably the most well known.”

Kesler frowns. “If we’re talking Imperial officers, there’s another two who are just as highly ranked.”

Fahrenheit shakes his head almost immediately before Kesler's even finished speaking. "Although he's now a Fleet Admiral as well, Lutz is still recovering. The doctors say he won't be ready to resume his duties for another two months at least. He's definitely not ready to be chivvied into marriage as soon as he can put his uniform back on."

"That just leaves -" Muller trails off slowly.

Everyone in the room immediately thinks of the stoic, unsmiling Admiral who always stands behind their Kaiser’s shoulder and they all wince simultaneously at the mental image of Oberstein getting married.

“If that happened, then we will definitely start another war,” Mittermeyer mutters, voicing out loud what everyone is definitely thinking. He brightens after a moment though. “Besides, Reuenthal is considered one of the most handsome men in the fleet, he’s the best choice in this circumstance.”

He turns to Reuenthal then, smiling cheerfully, obviously completely ignoring his best friend’s anguish at having to make a political marriage and to a man who had served them all endless defeats one after the other during the war. “This will solve your problem with the Imperial matchmakers who try and ambush you all the time as well. ”

All the admirals turn to stare at Reuenthal after hearing this previously unknown tidbit of information. Reuenthal hunches in on himself even more, obviously wanting to be anywhere but right here, right now.

*

Meanwhile, on Iserlohn, the 13th Fleet are no less upset at this arrangement.

“What do you mean Yang must be married?” Attenborough’s voice squeaks up half a register too high.

Caselnes pushes his glasses up a little on the bridge of his nose. Out of everyone present, he is one of the only ones that doesn’t look overly concerned at the way things have worked out. “The peace treaty stipulates that firstly, all Alliance territories will be part of the Empire and secondly, as a sign of our continued goodwill, Yang must be married into Imperial nobility.”

Julian raises his hand. “I understand that as Fleet Admiral, Yang is the most senior of military officers, but aren’t there better candidates amongst the government ministers?”

Attenborough nods so hard that he looks like one of those bobbleheads that he totally doesn't have sitting in his room. “Yes, exactly! If the government want to support that sort of condition, then they can damn well marry the Kaiser themselves.”

Caselnes shakes his head. “From what I heard, the Kaiser personally raised this and said it must be Yang if the Alliance were serious about wanting to foster a true continuous peace.”

Poplin slams his hands onto the table. “That’s - that’s extortion! They’re threatening us by basically forcing us to hand over Yang or they’ll continue the war!”

Murai, silent up until now, speaks up. “The Kaiser himself won’t be the Empire’s marriage candidate, and he has no relatives or children to offer. If that is the case, how will they prove their intentions to us?”

Patrichev nods in agreement. “They can’t expect us to just hand them our Fleet Admiral on a silver platter and have him married off to some unimportant, minor backwater noble that none of us have even heard of.”

Greenhill, who had been privy to some of the more sensitive and detailed documents as she had accompanied Yang to the negotiation, hesitates for a beat, glancing over at Yang before clearing her throat lightly, deciding that it was probably best to have things laid out clearly.

“I believe that the Kaiser said that it will be to one of his most senior and trusted Admirals,” she says softly.

There’s a second or two of silence as everyone in the room digests this before -

Poplin, who had finally settled into his seat less than a minute ago, shoots up again. “Woah, woah, woah. Wait, hold on a moment -”

Murai and Patrichev have their heads together already, comparing notes with one another and checking every now and again with Greenhill, who is standing next to them.

“How many senior ranking admirals does the Empire have right now?” Murai asks Patrichev.

Patrichev starts counting off on his fingers. “Muller. Fahrenheit. Wahlen. Eisenach. Kesler -”

“No, definitely not Muller,” Murai says firmly with Greenhill nodding along, “He’s much too young. Not even the Kaiser would be hard-hearted enough to push a boy into a forced marriage.”

Attenborough hears that and immediately swivels from arguing loudly with Caselnes to turn to Murai. “Hey! Are you saying that Yang isn’t a good catch?” he hollers loudly. “I would marry him myself in a heartbeat if I was an Imperial officer.”

Poplin takes this opportunity to sling his arm across Attenborough’s shoulders, laughing. “If you were an Imperial officer, the Alliance would’ve won the war years ago.”

Patrichev snorts loudly but continues on. “Should be able to strike out Wahlen and Kesler as well - I believe both their files list them as already married.”

Murai runs a hand across his chin. “That also takes Mittermeyer off the table. A pity, I think Yang would do well with him.”

The sound of something hitting the table hard draws everyone’s attention. Caselnes stands at the head of the table, next to a suspiciously silent Yang. The loud noise was the result of him throwing down a thick sheaf of documents with some force.

Julian looks at Yang for a long moment before he slowly raises his hand again. “Yang, do you know who you’re marrying?”

Everyone in the room immediately turns to stare at their commanding officer who looks like he’s doing his best to disappear into his leather swivel chair.

Schonkopf, also suspiciously silent until now, lurking near the doorway the entire time the discussion was happening, saunters forward. He turns Yang’s chair towards him, bracing one hand on the table and the other on the armrest of the chair. He leans in a little too close to be appropriate.

“Well, Admiral,” he drawls, tilting his head the slightest fraction to meet dark eyes. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Yang decides promptly that discretion is probably the better part of valour and immediately dives low, trying to slide beneath Schonkopf’s arms which are currently caging him in to prevent him from escaping. His original on-the-fly plan is to crawl on his hands and knees for a few moments before straightening up and making a beeline towards the door.

But alas, the best-laid plans of mice and men - Yang obviously severely overestimates his physical ability and clearly also underestimates his subordinate's. Schonkopf catches him within half a second, easily hauling him back into his chair with his hands beneath Yang’s arms.

“Good try,” he says, smirking down at him fondly. After making sure that Yang isn't going to be making a second attempt, he sits down on the corner of the table before Yang, eyebrows rising. “So, Admiral, did you have anything to share with the fleet?”

Yang sighs, pulling his beret off his head and scrunching it in his hands, a nervous habit that he’s never been able to break. “Why is this so important to know right now? You’ll find out soon enough,” he mumbles. “Sometimes you shouldn’t be too eager to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Schonkopf reaches over and plucks the poor, abused beret from Yang’s fingers. He smooths out the wrinkles and leans forward, settling it carefully on top of Yang’s mess of hair. “We need to be mentally prepared,” he says. “Or maybe we’re just curious, we’re only human you know.”

Yang looks around and everyone meets his eyes, nodding or watching him expectantly. He sighs, louder this time and stands up straight.

“Alright, fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says a tad petulantly.

“As per the Kaiser’s request, I will go forth to Fezzan next week to be married to the soon-to-be Governor-General of Neue-Land, Fleet Admiral Oskar von Reuenthal.”

*

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mentally labelled this chapter as 'mittermeyer is a good bro' ha
> 
> thank you guys for reading/the kudos/the comments <3 they truly make my day

 

*

A few days later, Mittermeyer rises extra early on a rare day off, sitting up, wide awake even though it’s barely past dawn and not even the songbirds can be heard yet. He leans over and kisses his still slumbering wife on the cheek before he slides out of bed silently and goes to get dressed.

It’s still early enough that the drive through even the central district is smooth and uninterrupted. Mittermeyer stares out of the window absently for most of the journey, watching as the city slowly wakes, with vendors opening up shop and the first early risers stepping out from their houses and beginning their day.

Unlike most of the senior officers serving under Lohengramm, Reuenthal had chosen to relocate his personal residence away from the bustling city center, citing the need for peace and quiet with a perfectly straight face during one of the first weekly meetings their Kaiser had held after the move to Fezzan.

Everyone else in the room at that time, from Muller, who had coloured faintly, to their Kaiser himself, who had given a half smirk, knew exactly why Reuenthal wanted some privacy but no one was crass enough or oblivious enough to want to call him out on it, except Bittenfeld of course.

“Are you sure about this, Reuenthal?” Bittenfeld had asked, one hand on his chin, looking almost concerned. “It’s a little out of everyone’s way if any of us wanted to call on you.”

There had been a stilted sort of pause then blanketing the room as the rest of the admirals clearly debated internally on whether to point out kindly that was probably the exact reason why Reuenthal wanted to relocate. Their indecision lingered for a little too long though as the deliberate sound of footsteps from behind their Kaiser’s throne cut neatly through the silence, drawing everyone’s eyes back to the front.

Oberstein was the one who had moved, stepping forward two steps exactly and settling into his usual position with this hands held behind his back. Bittenfeld had dropped his own hand and started scowling, gearing himself for a verbal fight like every single previous occasion when, in a completely unexpected turn of events, Oberstein actually spoke out to voice his agreement with Bittenfeld’s concern.

“My Kaiser, Admiral Bittenfeld has a solid point,” he had said, eyes flickering over where Bittenfeld stood impassively before turning his torso slightly and inclining his head politely towards Lohengramm.

Bittenfeld had closed his mouth, jaw snapping shut with a sharp click, blinked a couple of times and then mouthed those words back to himself a couple of times in disbelief.

However, in the end, since Reuenthal already had permanent quarters in the admiral’s lodge anyway like all the rest of them, and so he would still have a place to stay and quarter his staff in the occasion of a military emergency that required his attendance, their Kaiser had granted his request and waved off both Bittenfeld and Oberstein’s objections with an amused look.

Mittermeyer is shaken out of his reverie when the car pulls to an automatic stop in front of Reuenthal’s place. He glances at the time absently and frowns a little. Due to the almost non-existent delays along the way, he has made much better time than expected. He knows for a fact, after years of friendship, that despite his military training, Reuenthal is not inclined to be amongst the earliest of risers unless he has good reason to.

Mittermeyer’s presence here today is without prior notice, so Reuenthal would not be expecting him. Just as he’s debating on whether he should just leave now and come back later at a more suitable time or not, the front door swings open and one of the servants from the house makes his way down to the car.

“Admiral,” the man says with a polite bow when Mittermeyer’s driver promptly lowers his window. “Master Reuenthal is waiting for you in the main drawing room.”

He stands patiently, eyes lowered respectfully as Mittermeyer steps out of the vehicle and straightens his outer jacket.

“Please, lead the way,” Mittermeyer requests, letting the wry twist to his lips show only when the servant turns around.

It’s not as if he does not already know exactly how Reuenthal’s house is laid out after multiple visits, he’s definitely more than capable of finding his own way. Unfortunately though, even under the control of their Kaiser, the archaic rules of old nobility are still firmly ingrained into the Empire.

Reuenthal had once said, possibly more than a little drunk, that it could take a few generations before they could be rid of the old ways for good. Mittermeyer understands this in a logical way of course, already more than passingly familiar with military formalities and hierarchy after all these years, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Mittermeyer is usually shown to the private sitting room down a hall to the left of the entrance, closer to Reuenthal’s personal wing. However, today, the servant leads him down another, longer hallway through the formal day room and ends up holding open one of the doors at the end.

Despite not having been in this section of the house for a long while, he nevertheless still recognises it as the room that his friend prefers to entertain any acquaintances who drop by as opposed to actual friends, namely Mittermeyer, and also any unexpected visitors.

Realising that this means that Reuenthal must be up and with someone else already, Mittermeyer nods to the servant and strides through.

He can’t quite suppress a small huff of a sigh as he glances about - Reuenthal has obviously redone this room again since the last time he was here less than two weeks ago. The walls are back to a basic creamy hue where they were previously woodgrain, and most of the carpets and drapes have been replaced in muted shades of green and gold, the two colours that are all the rage at the moment amongst the nobility. Even the furniture looks completely new, laid out around the room in one of the modern styles, all warm oaks, and soft leather couches.

There are two scantily clad women who are lounging, casually resting against one another with their bare legs crossed daintily, on one of the said couches when he enters. They glance up at his entrance, heads rising in unison, both brightening immediately, jumping up and latching onto his arms, one on each side. They look vaguely familiar, and Mittermeyer realises, with a sinking heart, that he's probably met them both at least once or twice before under the exact same circumstances.

“Admiral Mittermeyer,” the one on the left, a gorgeous curvy brunette purrs, placing her cheek against his shoulder, fluttering her lashes at him. “You came to visit!”

“We missed you last time.” The tall striking blonde on his right slides her hand across his chest even as she presses close. “Are you staying long? Did you have time for a little fun with -”

Reuenthal saunters into the room at this point, his customary half-smile in place, although the hard to read tinge of amusement in his eyes is purely due to Mittermeyer’s current situation.

Reuenthal’s more or less dressed, thankfully, but his shirt is only half buttoned up to the middle and his hair is in a casual sort of disarray. It’s completely unlike the sleek, well-groomed look he presents to his Kaiser and fellow admirals during formal gatherings. There’s definitely the hint of love marks on the side of his neck and what looks like faint scratches across the otherwise unblemished skin of his upper chest.

“I’m afraid he’s here for me today,” he tells them, voice low and amused, deftly redirecting their attention from Mittermeyer back to himself, rescuing his best friend when they leave him be and surround Reuenthal instead, sliding their way into his personal space without shame.

Reuenthal smooths his palms down their backs to settle quite indecently low, placing a kiss on the brunette’s neck and flashes his most charming smile at them both. Mittermeyer resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead placing himself down into a chair as far away as he can, deliberately turning away to look out into the well-manicured lawn of the back garden.

“Unfortunately, it looks like duty calls, and so I have to cut our time together short,” Reuenthal says eventually after a few minutes of soft whispers and feminine giggles.

The regret in his tone at that moment sounds almost real to even Mittermeyer, who glances over at the trio in time to see Reuenthal tilt his head towards the door. “If you would be so kind? I promise to make it up to you both soon.”

Mittermeyer barely stops himself in time from scrunching up his face, unable to not notice that there’s a sort of wicked promise in that last sentence that hints at things he really does not want to think about. Reuenthal glances over at him though, as if knowing exactly what he had been thinking and drops a quick wink.

The two women pout but gather their things, sliding on their blouses and skirts with light laughter and slow glances from beneath their lashes at the two men. Both of them definitely go out of their way to brush deliberately past where Mittermeyer sits on their way out, with the brunette blowing him a kiss as she closes the door behind herself.

Mittermeyer smiles back and lifts a hand in a wave, polite as always. He waits until the door was shut firmly behind them before he lets the smile drop and pushes out of his seat in one explosive movement.

“Are you serious, Reuenthal?” he asks, pacing around the room after a long glare at his oldest friend. “Less than one month out from the most important event in your life, and you’re still here, entertaining ladies?”

Reuenthal seemingly ignores this rebuke, choosing to make his way over to the alcohol cabinet instead, pulling out a half-filled bottle and two glasses. He pours generously into both glasses and brings them over to the low table in the middle of his sitting room, placing them onto the surface with a soft click before he sits in an armchair, crossing his long legs and just watching MIttermeyer move.

“Do you know what the Alliance is going to think of us if they ever hear of this?” Mittermeyer continues, spinning on his heel at the end of the room and turning to make his way back again, booted steps muffled in the soft, long pile carpet.

He doesn’t doubt that the Alliance has already heard every unflattering rumour there is circulating about Reuenthal and he knows better than anyone that those rumours lingering are most likely true than not. However, after their Kaiser’s announcement, Mittermeyer had honestly expected Reuenthal would be taking this entire situation seriously enough to clean up his act, even just a little.

“Firstly,” Reuenthal drawls, smirking when Mittermeyer finally falls into silence. “Those two were definitely not ladies, in any sense of the word, especially after last night’s performance, if you get what I mean.”

Mittermeyer jerks around, scowling ferociously. “Reuenthal, you -”

“Secondly,” Reuenthal says, raising his voice slightly to cut off Mittermeyer. “I don’t care what the Alliance think.”

He leans forward to pick up a glass, the red liquid inside swirling as he tips it back and swallows it all down in one go. He’s no longer smiling, there’s no hint of any sort of humour in his eyes or his voice as he lowers the glass.

“This is a marriage of convenience, for nothing but political reasons and the sake of our Empire. Nothing more than a bargaining chip if you will,” Reuenthal says, voice sharp, even as he leans forward again to switch the empty glass in his hand for the other full one on the table.

Mittermeyer stares at him with narrowed eyes, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the bookcases against the window he had been looking out of before.

Reuenthal raises his head and downs the second glass as well without a single moment of hesitation.

“I am to tie myself permanently to someone who’s done nothing but humiliate us on the battlefield continuously through the war and you expect me to do what? Fall in _love_ and live happily ever after?” His words are almost bitter, and the tone when he says ‘love’ is nothing more than a scoff of disbelief.

Mittermeyer’s frown smooths out a little and he sits down slowly, choosing the chair opposite of Reuenthal’s this time. He nods towards the two empty glasses.

“Do you have any more?” he asks, a deliberate diversion of the subject for now.

Reuenthal slants a look at him but stands without complaint, moving back to the cabinet at the back of the room where the alcohol is stored. After a long moment, obviously giving them both a moment to calm down, he returns with two full glasses in one hand and an unopened bottle in his other, both of which he once again places onto the table.

After he sits back down, he remains silent but he does push one of the full glasses towards Mittermeyer though, as close to an apology for his outburst as Mittermeyer’ll ever get.

Mittermeyer is still the one who breaks the taut silence in the room, in the end, sighing softly, turning the glass he holds around and around and feeling it warm between his palms.

“Look,” he says, catching Reuenthal's gaze and holding it, grey eyes serious. “No one is expecting you to fall in love overnight with someone you don’t know - none of us, barring Muller and our Kaiser himself have even met Yang Wenli in person. But I’m just letting you know, for this to work, and it really needs to for the greater good of our Empire, you need to be able to at least tolerate him and have him tolerate you in turn.”

Reuenthal is staring back at him just as seriously, his dual coloured eyes unreadable. Mittermeyer pulls his lips up into a humourless smile and lowers his gaze to the table, letting go of his drink to clasp his fingers together, stilling their movement.

“Respect is a two-sided coin, Reuenthal,” he says after another moment of silence. “You already know that there’s no easy way out of this situation once it happens. You don’t want the rest of your life to be a misery, do you?”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to stay out of each other’s way,” Reuenthal says, relaxing enough to wave a hand casually, seemingly completely unconcerned. “We can always come to a mutual agreement not to interfere with each other’s business. He’s probably being forced into this farce of a marriage as well, surely that’s enough for the basis of your so-called mutual respect?”

Mittermeyer gives him an unimpressed look. “The long-term peace of the Galactic Empire depends on this marriage succeeding.”

“It’s not as if they have the resources or manpower to start another war,” Reuenthal counters flippantly, reaching out to uncork the new bottle, his glass once again empty. The liquid splashes a little when it hits the glass, stray droplets falling to the table, smearing a little across the pale surface when Reuenthal swipes a finger through the mess.

“No they don’t, but they can still make your life very uncomfortable,” Mittermeyer says, laying out the facts for him, “Iserlohn Fortress is theirs as per the treaty and, demilitarised or not, Yang Wenli’s basically undefeated 13th Fleet is fully headquartered there. Don’t forget, you’re to assume your new duties as the Governor-General of Neue-land shortly after your marriage, of which Iserlohn is part of.”

“What’s to stop them from just rising up in a revolt when they hear how you’ve been treating their beloved Fleet Admiral?” Mittermeyer continues, even as his eyebrows rise. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’ll be able to get things under control eventually, but -”

“In the meantime, it’ll make me look utterly inept and erode our Kaiser’s faith in my abilities. Not to mention it might inspire dissidents from other Neue-land territories.” It’s Reuenthal’s turn to sigh as he concedes the point reluctantly, running a hand through the dark strands of his own hair. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it is to be made out to be incompetent under any sort of circumstance.

“Fine. I’ll make an effort to not actively alienate him,” Reuenthal says eventually, tone begrudging, pressing himself into the back of the sofa. He raises a finger even as Mittermeyer starts to smile. “But, you can’t force me to like him or be nice to him.”

Mittermeyer shrugs, having gotten more of a concession from Reuenthal than he had expected to and finally picks up his previously untouched glass and takes a sip.

“That’s all I can ask,” he says airily, raising his wine in the air in a mock toast. He smirks then, “Besides, it’s not like you’re nice to anyone really.”

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: we return to yang and the 13th fleet as they prepare for the wedding ~~of the century~~

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [here on tumblr](https://fortress-of-iserlohn.tumblr.com/) if you ever want to scream at me :D


End file.
